


The Boats and the Bees

by GemmaRose



Series: Kinktober 2020 [18]
Category: Corruption of Champions, The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: F/M, Mind Manipulation, Orgy, Oviposition, Riptide is just vibin, Spitroasting, Valve Oral (Transformers)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:15:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27510637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GemmaRose/pseuds/GemmaRose
Summary: Riptide's never been one to turn down freely-offered interfacing, even if it is with a bunch of tessons.
Relationships: Riptide (Transformers)/Original Character(s)
Series: Kinktober 2020 [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947760
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20





	The Boats and the Bees

Riptide was a popular mech. His buddies on Shoreline had brought him into the fold because he was fun and great in the berth, and he’d never had a partner leave anything less than utterly dazed from his thoroughness. So it was hardly a surprise, really, that word about him had spread past the nice cool lake he’d made his home. The fact that it was a Tesson approaching him, though, was a bit out of the ordinary. Then again, he’d heard that the Insecticon strain were much more reasonable than most, even letting mechs go if they didn’t want to frag. Still...

“You want me to what?” he frowned, tapping the heel of his hand against one audial to shake loose any oil which may have gotten in there.

“We would like you to attend our gazzzering tonight.” she repeated, her voice buzzing and lilting just like bee-femme tessons were said to do. “You are zaid to be good with your glozzzza, and so many of my sisterzz have need of a mech with your... talentzzz.”

“Ohhh, like an orgy?” Riptide grinned. How silly of her, to think he wouldn’ve said no! Evidently the stories about him didn’t include much about the mechs he ran with. “Sure! But uh, you’ll have to lead me there.”

“This izz not a problem.” she smiled, her biolights pulsing a warm gold, the same colour as the cubes of honey Dominus sometimes pulled off the frames of mechs who passed out during parties on the boat. Oh, duh, they were the same colour because that honey came from her type of tesson!

“So uh, see you tonight I guess?” he looked from side to side, then over his shoulder memorising the view from this bit of lakeshore so he could find it later. “Just meet me here at dusk, I don’t wanna be tripping over everything on my way to the party. ”

“A wonderful idea.” she agreed, bobbing her helm, and lifted off with a buzz of her thin, delicate-looking wings. Riptide watched her go, then turned back towards the lake and scanned for Shoreline on the oil. It was rude to show up to a party empty-handed, right? That was what Mirage always said when Dominus went through their guests’ subspaces for fuel and loose shanix.

\---

The forest at dusk was really pretty, Riptide decided as he followed the golden glow of his new friend through its dimming light. There were glades full of flowers that looked like all sorts of valves, vines hanging from trees which ended in interestingly textured false spikes, one trunk had an honest-to-Unicron _breast_ growing from its trunk, at just the right height for an average mech to suckle from comfortably. He’d have to explore in here on his own sometime, take advantage of all these little joys. Maybe he could convince Shoreline that a little garden would look nice on her aft deck, by the paddle wheels. Those valve flowers looked _really_ nice.

His bee buddy led him through the woods with confidence, her wings buzzing a comforting note that made Riptide’s processor feel a little bit fuzzy. She dropped to stand on her pointy little pedes to push through the thick draping boughs of some exceptionally leafy tree, and when Riptide ducked after her he was hit with a downright melody of buzzing, easily a dozen of the tessons were gathered on the branches of this little clearing, bare valves dripping thick golden lubricant and most bearing lumpy abdomens two or three times the size of his friend’s.

“Got him~” his friend sang out, and Riptide let himself be guided by a dozen pairs of hands to the middle of the clearing. The droning buzz of their wings filled his processor, chasing away any thought which flitted through before he could process what it was. A valve hovered over his mouth- when had he laid down?- and he opened it automatically, shifting bigger so his glossa could lick all the way into her valve.

The golden lubricant was sweeter than any goodie he’d ever tasted, and Riptide moaned as he ate out the valve above him, drinking down every last drop that spilled into his mouth. The tesson over him overloaded, covering his face in sticky fluid, but before he could so much as lick his lips the tesson over him was shoved aside and another golden valve pressed against his mouth. He moaned happily, flicking his glossa over her node and licking around the rim of her tight, quivering valve, cleaning up each bead of lubricant as it dripped out.

Slender fingers traced seams all over his frame, and Riptide moaned when one of the femmes found his spikes. The droning buzz pitched up sharply, and Riptide knew somehow that his partners were arguing who got to ride him first. Not that he could bring himself to care. He had a mouthful of sweet, sweet lubricant and a processor full of humming and, after a moment, a valve on each of his spikes. A long, thin spike speared into his valve a moment later, and he thought he might have overloaded as it struck the back of his valve, but he couldn’t be sure. His whole frame felt very... hazy. Good, but distant, the hum of his partners’ wings swaddling his processor in a layer of good feelings.

The femme over his face overloaded, and this time Riptide had a moment to lick his lips and start scraping the rest of his face clean with his fingers. He could’ve just shifted his glossa longer, but he couldn’t quite recall how. Or why he would bother, when sucking the golden fluid from his fingers was so satisfying. A fresh valve settled against his lips as the spike in _his_ valve pushed through the back of his valve and stuck, swelling at the base and rubbing so nicely against his nodes as the bulge traveled up into his frame. The femme over him ground against his face, and he moaned as he set to devouring her valve.

His tank felt a little funny from all the sweet lubricant, but it was a distant feeling, far away compared to the sensation of the tessons fragging themselves silly on his spikes and the one filling his valve with her own weird spike. Time blurred, punctuated by overloads, and he’d long since lost track of how many valve overloads he’d been drenched in when one of the femmes slid her long, thin spike down his intake instead, fragging his mouth with the same forceful thrusts her hivemate was using on his valve.

It felt fragging fantastic. Why, he wondered when the drone in his audials faded enough for him to think, would any sane mech say no to them?

The femmes on his spikes stopped moving after a while. Riptide couldn’t tell if they were the same ones from the start or not, but it was distracting to the point of madness, feeling their valves hot and tight around his spikes but without any notable pressure or friction. And worse, as his partners kept going the ache in his tanks grew more and more difficult to ignore. He felt bloated and heavy, his fuel tank aching from all the overloads he’d swallowed and his lower tanks feeling simultaneously wrung dry and packed almost _too_ full.

He moaned, and the spike lazily fragging his mouth swelled as its owner overloaded down his intake again, the warm heat and sensual pressure of his two full tanks nudging him towards another overload of his own. He barely felt connected to his frame, hazy and blissed-out and so full it shot right past comfort and discomfort and landed somewhere near bliss. He hadn’t known anything could feel this good. Even orgies on Shoreline rarely pushed him to this level.

The droning buzz intensified as his overload dragged on, and on...

\---

Riptide groaned as he slowly came back to himself, wet hand falling limply from his mouth. It was dark. Way darker than it ever got on Shoreline, with her pretty red biolights dotted around the decks to help keep anyone from falling overboard at night. Where was he? And why wasn’t that place his home?

He pushed himself up about halfway to sitting, and immediately fell back down, moving a hand to rub his aching middle. His fuel tank was full of something thick and heavy, and his forge was so stuffed it had popped his abdominal armour off at the bottom. He rubbed up under the loose plating with one hand, and the other drifted idly to his array. He took one of his spikes in hand, and frowned at the sticky mess which coated his palm and fingers. Lifting his hand to his face, a quick sniff and taste test proved that it definitely wasn’t his own transfluid covering his spikes and pelvic plating and inner thighs.

Right, the tesson femmes! he looked around, but there wasn’t a glimmer of their golden biolights to be seen between the trees, just dark and dark and more dark. He checked his internal chronometer, and let out a low whistle at the number it displayed. He’d spent the whole damn night recharging on the forest floor, and somehow hadn’t gotten jumped? Perks of falling asleep big, he supposed.

He made to shift smaller, but quickly returned to his current resting size with a wince. Right, tank contents didn’t shift with him unless they were part of him. It was why he never fueled at full size. Well, that and the fact that it’d take more fuel to fill his tank at that size than they had on Shoreline, even if they siphoned her impressive storage tanks dry. Still, at this point it couldn’t really be helped. He shifted a touch bigger, just enough to get his armour back on properly, and settled in to watch the forest light back up, the bioluminescent plants chasing away the dark shroud of night.

Ooh, dark shroud of night, that was a good one. He’d have to tell his boat buddies. He rose to his pedes once his complaining tank had processed enough of the weird fuel to stop him feeling quite so queasy, and shifted larger until he stood helm and shoulders above the treetops. Aaand, there was the lake! All he had to do was not get turned around, and he’d be back in time for morning fuel.

Shrinking back down as far as his stuffed tanks would let him, Riptide picked a happy tune to hum and set off back home.

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies to any not-logged-in readers, but due to an ex who refuses to leave me alone I have had to disable anon comments. Kudos are still open though, and if you want to scream (or would like me to write a fic for you) come check me out on Pillowfort! No account required to get my discord, and I'm always happy to chat. [[Link](https://www.pillowfort.social/GemmaRose)]


End file.
